A FEW DUCKS AND JIMMY’S TRIP TO 
CALIFORNIA 
“T start about de sun-rise an I put out ma decoy 
An I see Bateese, he sneak along de shore 
An before it’s comin’ breakfas’, he’s hollerin’ for hees boy 
For carry home two dozen duck or more, 
While I’m freezin’ in de blind—me—from four o'clock to nine 
An every duck she’s passin’ up so high 
Deres blue bill an butter ball, and red head de fines’ kind 
But I might as well go shootin’ at the sky.” 
Wm. HENRY DRUMMOND. 
In telling about that morning—I suppose I had best 
start with the music—Jimmy was whistling and when 
Jimmy whistles, you can bet the shooting is going to be 
mighty slim. I had a hunch that Jimmy was right this 
time, it was so warm and calm, so I said to him, ‘“‘I am 
going to let you shoot to-day, to change the luck.”’ 
‘Well now,’’ said Jimmy, ‘‘wouldn’t that jar you. 
I’ve noticed the days you let me shoot, there ain’t 
nothing to shoot at, it’s too pleasant or too calm or too 
something, but I’ll turn my old pump gun loose often 
enough to-day for you to hear it, anyway.”’ 
That morning—to begin over again—found us in a 
far corner of the East Lake. The early dawn changed 
into daylight and the marsh and lake grew slowly into 
shape, but the expected daybreak flight of ducks failed 
to appear on time. The ducks were few and those we 
saw were shy. Perhaps one reason was the sudden and 
unexpected appearance of a small tule island, where 
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